I have to tell you, I’m having more than a few hiccoughs in 2019 and it’s only April. There’s 8 more months to go but who is counting? I’ve been here many times before. I’ve learned it’s best to accept the hiccoughs instead of fighting them. It takes some effort each time. I’m accepting that, too, because that’s how I am. It’s like doing the backstroke in a rocky swimming pool. There’s no smooth gliding. I’m tossed about. I’m not a good swimmer and I start panicking when water floods my face and up my nose. I have to rein myself in from thrashing wildly about, gain control and float through the waves.
I’m doing just that through this recent hiccough. Who knows what poked the tip of the iceberg. Do I still have hormones? Then there’s the weather, the clouds, winds, dip or rise of temperature along with the atmospheric pressure. Whatever. It does not matter. I’m out of balance, my mood can change on a dime, I can’t sleep, things don’t get done. It feels like weeks long but it is only a couple of days. Life feels like a wreck. I feel like a wreck.
I sound like a wreck, too, but I’ve changed a thing or two. I can almost stop my thoughts and feelings on a dime. I said almost. Now whenever those bad thoughts and feelings come up, I see a stop sign coming at me. I feel that hand pushing me back. STOP! And I do for a minute or two. Huh! I have to roll that around my mind and decide what is best to think, feel and speak. Sometimes the best course of action is no action and no words.
Well, I do hope I can sleep a little better tonight. Maybe I can practice doing the backstroke in my mind to send me off into dreamland. But what will be, will be. The future is not ours to see. Que sera, sera.